Focusing on local nature and land may help bring Americans together around environmental concerns:

Climate is hugely divisive and nature isn’t. In a 2025 poll, a 50-percentage-point gap, 84–34, separated Democrats and Republicans on the question of whether the U.S. should “take a more active role in global climate efforts.” Support for “conservation lands and wildlife,” however, was 80 percent among Dems and 61 percent among Republicans. People of all stripes, it turns out, run, hike, bike, collect firewood and food in the wild. Ninety-six million Americans bird-watch, 58 million fish, and 14 million hunt.
“If you get down to the local level, genuine bipartisan collaboration can happen because there are people on both sides of the proverbial aisle who really care about the places that they live,” Michelle Nijhuis, the author of Beloved Beasts, which chronicles the history of the American conservation movement, told me.
This kind of collaboration should be channeled to expand publicly accessible natural lands. Call it an “environmentalism of places,” in which people take care of ecosystems near them for the good of plants, animals, water, and human psychological well-being. Climate advocates can refer to these very real, locally known places to make climate change real and relevant to people.
The suggestion here is people have more interest and knowledge in local places they know compared to places less familiar to them. It is the difference between nature they may encounter regularly versus abstract notions of nature that they may or may not have much first-hand experience with or knowledge of.
If “all politics is local,” how could the environmental movement better connect local and national or international concerns? Is it making clear the local implications of broader patterns? Is it getting people involved at a local level and then asking them to expand their scope to other places? Or perhaps people will have a hard time looking beyond their local contexts and policies and efforts need to have clear local connections or benefits.
More broadly, Ben Norquist and I argue in our forthcoming book Every Somewhere Sacred that we have a responsibility for the places in which we are in and should care about other places. How much do we know about it? What kind of stories do we tell about land and place and what better stories can we tell? What can we do collectively and individually in these places? This does not necessarily mean ignoring other places but rather telling better land stories about where we are and our broader context.








